


Dreams

by milkwaste



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Flashbacks, M/M, Panic Attacks, i wrote this to vent, so it's probably not good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 03:08:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11546226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkwaste/pseuds/milkwaste
Summary: Jason recognizes a song from his childhood. It doesn't go well.





	Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in like an hour based on a very real thing that happened. Bc writing a fic about it was cathartic. Its unedited, I refuse to read through it, and it's like the middle of the night. The title of the song is never stated but its Dreams by Fleetwood Mac, a song I did not realize I'd heard before until I was ass deep in a panic attack. I used it to title the fic bc I'm fucking lazy. I don't know how to paragraphs, also. This definitely probably doesn't conform to the actual comics at all and is probably ooc bc it was like i said, just e venting so have fun

It takes him by surprise. He’s in one of his safe houses when it happens, cleaning because it’s gotten a bit out of hand. He’s been staying there awhile, and Roy’s been around enough that he’s had other things on his mind besides keeping everything clean and neat. It’s a pretty dull afternoon in the middle of a pretty dull week and he doesn’t have much else to occupy him. Roy is out with Lian, seeing a movie or something else he didn’t catch while half asleep that morning.

He’d found a dusty old CD player at the start of his cleaning, and decided to put it to use. The only CD he can find to put in it is dirty and unlabelled, on the floor and of unknown origins. Jason really can’t say he remembers acquiring it, but it’d made its way there somehow. The first few songs reveal it to be Fleetwood Mac’s Greatest hits, probably a bootleg copy of the album, considering it had been unmarked. He knows it’s not his, doesn’t know where the fuck it came from or how it ended up in his house but honestly in his life anything can happen, and he decides he’s going to blame Dick whether or not it’s actually his fault, just because it seems like the right thing to do at the time. 

It’s good, at first. It provides suitable background music while he throws away old food wrappers and scrubs the bathroom. It’s better than stifling silence, and it’s tolerable. Some of the songs are catchy, even, in the way that only a compilation of songs that come mainly from the 1970’s can be. He unconsciously counts the songs as they go by, because being trained to be constantly alert means he notices every song change, can’t lose himself in the music and the act of cleaning. It’s when the CD hits the ninth song that everything goes to shit. 

It starts out fine. It’s just another song on an album he’s paid minimal attention to. It’s when the song hits the chorus that it happens, and he doesn’t even realize what exactly it was until he’s struggling to pull himself out of flashbacks. He’s heard it before. Maybe not the full song, but he’s heard the chorus. He’d heard it from his mother countless times. Sometimes, on her good days, though few and far between, she’d sing it to him directly. Most times she’d mumble or hum it deliriously as she slipped in and out of consciousness in her drugged state while he tried his best to take care of her. It had been one of her favorites. He remembers her humming it weakly before falling unconscious and her heart stopping, before the panic had set in that she was dead. 

He can’t help it after that. That one memory is enough to send his brain spiraling out of control. He’s remembering his whole childhood. He remembers his mother, then he remembers his shit father, he remembers stealing and living on the street trying to get by. He remembers being Robin and then he remembers being beat to death with a fucking crowbar while the Joker laughed, and, God, everything was the Joker’s fault. He gets lost in that one. He feels the pain and he can’t breathe and he doesn’t remember how he got to this from a stupid song his mother liked but he’s a million miles away from the toilet he was cleaning, can’t come back no matter how hard he tries. 

Distantly he registers the sound of the door opening and closing, Lian and Roy laughing, and beyond that, that the fucking music had stopped, over the sounds of himself trying to catch his breath and his own heart racing. He thinks he might be crying, but he can’t think about it right now.

“Jason?” Roy’s voice sounds concerned and that snaps him enough out of his own head to realize what just happened. 

Jason doesn’t trust his voice to respond, and he doesn’t like showing this much weakness but it’s Roy, and he trusts Roy, at least more than he trusts most of anybody else. Lian is in the other room, he can hear the TV on, and Roy had probably been coming to use the bathroom before he’d been met with the sight of the mess that was Jason on the floor. He takes a few deep breaths to steady himself, and surveys his surroundings. The toilet brush has been abandoned and slipped into the toilet and bottle of cleaner is on its side, spewing onto the freshly cleaned floor. Beyond that, he’s sure he looks like complete shit. 

“Panic attack,” he manages, because when he thinks about it that’s probably what it was, wasn’t it? Not that he hasn’t had them before, but he feels like if he doesn’t label it, and only mentions it on a need to know basis, he can pretend they don’t happen and put the whole thing out of his mind. Roy’s seen him have them, though, and has had a few himself. Roy understands, Roy is safe. But honestly, in their line of work, he can’t believe there’s anyone who hasn’t had at least one panic attack at some point. Even without the experiences Jason’s had, it gets to you. 

Roy is wiping the spilled cleaning product off the floor with a paper towel, setting the bottle on the counter and taking the toilet brush out of the toilet to put it in it’s little holder. Then he offers Jason a hand to help him up.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Jason really doesn’t. He’s tired and doesn’t really talk about his feelings very well on a good day. Roy’s leading him to their bedroom though, and then they’re laying down, with Roy’s arms around Jason in a way that makes him feel safe. A way that he really needs right now even if he really wants to pretend he doesn’t.

“Was listening to music,” he begins gruffly, mostly because his voice his still feeling a little unsteady. “A song came on that my mother used to sing. I think it was her favorite. It… sent me back” 

He applauds himself for keeping from choking up throughout that. He’s an adult, god damn it. He’s supposed to be strong. He’s forced himself to be. Panic is one thing, he knows it’s bound to happen, but he knows for sure now that he’s crying and he needs it to stop. 

Roy doesn’t say anything for once, and Jason is glad for that. Instead he just pulls Jason closer, and Jason allows himself to bury his face in Roy’s shoulder. He’s safe here. He feels himself relaxing. His heart slows to normal. His breathing steadies. They just lay like that for a while, eventually drifting off into a nap.

**Author's Note:**

> i dont even know what the fuck i just wrote yall


End file.
